


The Places We Left Behind

by TiesThatBind1899



Category: The Last of Us (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Past Character Death, Strained Relationships, i just wanted to wallow in my pain, nothing big happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25801225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiesThatBind1899/pseuds/TiesThatBind1899
Summary: Tommy's trip back to Texas, where he finds some memories to hold to and some to leave behind.
Relationships: Maria/Tommy (The Last of Us)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	The Places We Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize if this has already been done, but I just wanted to make myself feel a little sad ok. :') Title inspired by the amazing song, "Place I Left Behind," by the Deep Dark Woods.
> 
> I took some liberties with Joel and Sarah's house and the pictures inside.
> 
> Set after Tommy's time in the Fireflies but before the events of TLOU.

In his mind, the house would be burnt out, ransacked. But then again, if he’d really believed that, he wouldn’t have made the trip all the way down here. 1,500 miles, nearly. Six close calls with infected, three with hunters. Two goddamn months, on account of all the delays.

So yeah, some part of him must’ve believed the house would still be standing and she was. Looking old and worn down and grown up - but still fucking standing. He and Joel helped build this place, and he felt a small twinge of pride. Some of the other houses down the street had damn-near collapsed, but not this one. It could’ve just been blind luck, though. He didn’t know.

“I’ll wait out here with the horses.”

Tommy glanced to his left. Maria wasn’t looking at him but at the street. It was quiet, but she was being watchful. And he also figured she was giving him a minute, to collect himself. She was good like that, and he strongly suspected he loved her a little but just hadn’t found the right way to tell her yet. Or the nerve.

The end of the goddamn world - but some things didn’t change.

“All right.” Tommy shifted his rifle onto his back. “You holler if anythin’ comes up.”

Maria snorted. “All right, cowboy.”

He bumped his shoulder against hers. She bumped back. He didn’t want her to think he was getting misty-eyed over all this, but the truth was, after all the traveling and danger they’d gone through to get here - he suddenly didn’t wanna go anywhere near that house. He wanted to hoof it all the way back to Jackson, as fast as they could, avoiding all the bad spots they’d hit on the way down. Maybe, if they were real lucky, they could get back in half the time.

That was stupid, though, and he knew it. They hadn’t come all this way for him to take a look and give a nod and then just turn right back around.

If he lingered any longer out here, staring, Maria was gonna know how uneasy he was, so he walked up to the front door, like he wasn’t remembering all the millions of times he’d done this before. Like memories weren’t starting to creep back in on him, memories he thought he’d put to rest some time ago.

_Just another house. Just another place to find supplies._

He nearly knocked on the front door. Nearly remembered the sound of Sarah bounding down the steps, hollering, “I’ll get it!” and then opening it up, breathless and grinning at him like he was her second favorite person in the world. Behind Joel, of course, but that was as it should be.

“I liked bein’ an uncle,” he’d told Maria one night. He’d been more drunk than tipsy, and they’d been sitting in the lookout that had a fireplace and Jesus if it wasn’t cozy and a little on the romantic side. Maria had been looking at him all night. He’d been looking back.

She’d found a bottle of whiskey, and they’d shared it, by the fire - not doing much looking out where they should’ve been but it'd been a quiet few days. It felt peaceful, and that was the danger of _peaceful_ \- spilling out all your guts in the quiet.

“I liked bein’ the one to show up at soccer games, like a surprise. She knew my brother’d be there. But I could surprise her. And she liked playing Playstation and shit. I loved Street Fighter, and she loved it, too. My brother hated it, said it was stupid. So I got to do all the fun stuff. Got to be there for all the good stuff, you know?”

“And left him with all the bad, huh? The meltdowns and general teenage angst?” Maria had asked, grinning slightly over the top of her mug.

“Exactly,” Tommy had replied and laughed. “But, nah, there weren’t too many meltdowns with her. She was a good kid. A good kid.” Then he’d kinda cleared his throat. Some of his whiskey haze had lifted for a second - or maybe worsened. He’d shaken his head, said “shit,” and Maria had just nodded.

They’d gone quiet for a while, after that. Maria knew when to let things be quiet, but it never felt like Tommy couldn’t disturb that quiet, either - which was new to him. And a lot of times, she would disturb the quiet herself to ask him things right out. Straight up. Looking him dead in the eye.

That night, she’d asked, “What were their names? Your brother, your niece?”

For some reason, Tommy hadn’t felt like answering.

Now, he was standing here, thinking of their names _and_ their faces. It was nothing more than thinking about ghosts. Thinking about air. It didn’t matter how much he thought on it but it was all around him and he still couldn't see it.

He shouldered the front door open and peeped inside.

The air was wet and smelled of rot and plants. Some of the windows were busted out and creeper vines had wormed in, and the rugs were growing mold. First thing he saw, though, was Joel’s guitar. It was still by the TV, untouched but looking like shit.

He glanced away, toward the dining room and saw specks in the air. Slanted light was shining in through what was left of the windows, making those specks look like gold or pollen or even dust. But Tommy pulled out his mask, secured it over his head, and then - he crept all the way inside.

Nothing moved in the house but some birds fluttering upstairs, some mice scurrying. He strained to hear more but that was all he heard.

He moved forward, into the kitchen. Joel’s goddamn phone was still sitting on the counter. It was strange. All very strange. If it had an ounce of battery, if it could turn on, Tommy knew all the notifications would be from him, from that night.

He turned his back on that phone and followed the spores. They led him into the side office, where the sliding glass doors were busted open and a room-full of fungus waited. It was almost pretty, in a weird sort of way. Like looking at a coral reef above water. Or looking at some dark edge of the ocean in the light of day. Pretty but not right.

The body from which all that shit sprouted was Jimmy Cooper, not that any ID could be made now. But Tommy remembered Joel telling him the story.

Poor bastard. He was damn near part of this house now.

Tommy moved on, creeping through the place like an unwanted guest. Nature was reclaiming it. He figured after another decade or so, she finally would collapse in or get pulled down by all the goddamn vines and then what would be left? Probably just some pieces. Debris.

It was near the end of summer, which meant it was hot and humid. Tommy was already soaked through with sweat before he’d come in this heat trap, and now, with his gas mask on and all the plant life around him, it felt more like he was swimming than walking.

He needed to hustle.

But he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, either.

There were still a few pictures on the wall. It was obvious the house had been sifted through a couple times, but the scavengers had no need for pictures of strangers and so it was pictures that remained.

Should he take those?

He hesitated by a photograph at the base of the staircase, still clinging cockeyed on the wall. It was Sarah’s yearbook picture, but Tommy couldn’t remember what year it was from, what grade - he hadn’t been able to keep track of that sort of thing. She was smiling big. Looked a lot like her mama, but Tommy hadn’t been stupid enough to say that around Joel.

Sarah had hated that picture - now that, he remembered.

_“I look so fuckin’ goofy.”_

_“You_ are _goofy, but you don’t look it - and stop cussin’.”_

_“You cuss.”_

_“What’s your daddy say? ‘Do as I say, not as I do?’”_ He’d done an imitation of his brother, then, which made her laugh. He’d felt a little bad about it, at the time. He’d known all the hell Joel had gone through, known all the growing up he’d had to do in such a short amount of time. It felt sort of wrong to pick on him about his parenting, but it had been too late to do anything about it.

Tommy decided to leave that picture behind.

There was a square on the wall next to Sarah’s yearbook picture, a space where a different photo had hung, but he didn’t remember which one it was and he looked around on the ground and couldn’t find it so he gave up.

He was climbing up the steps now, easing his weight down gently to make sure he wouldn’t fall through.

The next picture that was still hanging was a picture of Joel and Sarah on that damn cruise Joel went in debt over, after he'd just got his truck paid off. Sarah’d seen some documentary on Fiji or Fuji or one of those places, and she’d talked about it nonstop for forever and then on her eleventh birthday, Joel had presented her with the cruise tickets in his quiet way and she’d screamed in her loud way, and then they’d both just smiled at each other.

Tommy left that picture, too. He finished climbing the steps, and he came up to Joel’s room first. That felt weird, being in there. Looters had knocked shit all over the place, yanked the goddamn sheets off the bed, of all things, and ripped the mattress open. But the treadmill was still in the corner. The TV was still on the nightstand. His books were still there - books on construction. On startups. That was when Joel still had a few dreams left and Tommy had boatloads and together, they’d been tinkering with the idea of starting out on their own:

_Miller Brothers Construction._

The idea was fucking laughable now. If the world hadn’t ended, they would’ve never made it, anyway - working together like that, being their own bosses. They might’ve killed each other.

Tommy wandered over and opened the closet door. A fucking bird flew out, caused him to shout a mess of curses and reach for his gun. But then the bird was gone, swooping out the window, only feathers remaining - raining down from up high.

“Stupid,” he said, maybe to the bird or maybe to himself.

At the back of the closet was the gun safe, the top absolutely caked in bird shit. No one had been able to open it, though it was obvious some folks had tried, judging by all the scratches and dents.

The combination was Sarah’s birthday. That Tommy remembered, too, so he dialed it in and the door swung open.

One of Papa’s hunting rifles - that was the only thing in there besides some ammo.

When Papa’d died, Joel got half of his hunting stuff and Tommy got the other half. They’d gone hunting together only twice after his death, both of them with his guns. But it hadn’t been the same so they’d just stopped doing it.

Tommy debated for a second then he went ahead and grabbed the rifle. It was a gun, after all. Necessary. Needed. It didn’t matter who it had belonged to.

He strapped it on his other shoulder, stuffed the ammo in his bag. Then he kind of glanced at Joel’s shirts, or what was left of them - mostly plain t-shirts, which Tommy always gave him hell about hanging up -

_“Well, what the hell else am I supposed to do with them, Tommy?” Joel had asked, getting a little irritated._

_“Fold ‘em, you fuckin’ weirdo.”_

_“Or just throw ‘em on the ground like you do?”_

Tommy closed the closet door back all the way. Maybe that damn bird wouldn’t get back in there, make a bigger mess.

He was halfway down the hall when he turned around and doubled back, opened the closet a crack because hell, what did it matter now? And maybe that bird had eggs in its nest or some shit.

So he left it cracked and then moved on down the hall where he looked at a big framed picture of him and Sarah. He didn’t take that one, either, though because it was too big. The frame would be too heavy, he told himself.

He inched on down to Sarah’s room next.

He was sweating buckets. He could feel it dripping off his hair, down his back. He thought about just leaving now. What else did he really need? Why had he even made this stupid trip?

But he opened Sarah’s door anyway. A scatter of mice shot across the floor, diving beneath the bed. Rat shit everywhere. More creeper vines climbing in from the windows.

This room had the best light in the whole house. It was meant to be Joel’s, at first, when they were building because it was the bigger, nicer room. But it had wound up being Sarah’s.

Her posters were still hanging. Some were tattered, blowing in the slight breeze coming from the windows. Hazy warm light streaked in. The specks floating on the air were actually pollen this time, and it glittered like gold. And despite the rat shit and the vines reclaiming the place, it was sort of pretty.

He didn’t stay too long, though. Still didn’t feel right. He saw a journal or diary or something, poking out from beneath the bed, but like hell he was gonna take that and read through it. Joel had read it once because he thought Sarah was dating someone, and he was freaked out about it, panicking, because she was too young. But he was really only panicking because he’d been sixteen when he’d had Sarah.

It was the first time Tommy could remember seeing Joel kind of unhinged about something. Obsessive. So he’d read her journal, even though Tommy told him not to, and then he’d done something doubly stupid by _telling_ Sarah he’d read her journal.

That had been the biggest, nastiest fight Tommy ever saw between the two of them. Really, the only fight. And Tommy was right smack in the middle of it. It took weeks to settle because Joel wouldn’t apologize and wouldn’t admit that he hadn’t trusted her. Sarah hadn’t even been dating anyone. She’d just had some dumb crush and tacked the kid’s last name onto hers in her diary.

So Tommy left the diary alone and just peeled off some of the pictures she had by her bed.

One of her, Tommy, and Joel. It was the worst, dorkiest picture Tommy had ever managed to take, which made Sarah and Joel both get copies and flash them around his face whenever they could.

The other picture was of her and Joel at one of her soccer matches. Tommy had taken that picture. He sort of remembered that day but it kind of blurred into other days, too. Other matches, other events.

He looked at Joel for a second - held the picture up real close to inspect it through his gas mask. Tommy wanted to remember him like this - smiling, happy, a good man - because if he remembered him like this then maybe he wouldn’t hate him so much. But if he didn’t hate him so much then the guilt threatened to collapse Tommy’s insides, so that wouldn’t do either.

It was hard, looking back. Joel had good reason not to talk about this shit, not to remember it. It felt like memories were bleeding into Tommy’s skin right about now, and so he quickly shoved the pictures into his bag and got moving.

He was done. This was enough.

But when he went back downstairs, he caught sight of that damned guitar again. He remembered Joel teaching him how to play it, when they were just kids. Joel had a lot of love back then but was always very particular about who he spent it on. At the time, he loved Tommy, their grandparents, and his guitar. In that order, probably. Later, Sarah was at the top of that list. But the guitar was always there, too. It probably trumped Tommy a few times, depending on how pissed he’d managed to make Joel.

Tommy eyed it for a minute, assessing. He had no fucking clue how to fix it. It was ruined. And it would be awkward, trying to lug it all the way back to Jackson. All it would take was for Tommy to fall backwards once and the whole damn thing would be shattered to splinters and he’d have to look at that mess, and honestly, it was just easier leaving the damn thing here, where it was whole but rotten and rusted.

So that’s what he decided to do.

But from the corner of his eye, he did see something he could tote - a little photo album by the busted Playstation controllers. Looked like maybe it had been stuffed beneath the TV with the DVDs and games, but someone had been rifling through, jarred it out.

That was weird. Tommy didn’t really see Joel putting together a photo album.

He was curious but sweating and sick feeling because of it, so he just grabbed the stupid thing, shoved it in his already heavy pack. It was stupid to weigh yourself down with shit you couldn’t use. But Joel wasn’t around to berate him for it, anyway. So he took it.

When he went outside, he didn’t take one last look back. Just shut the door behind him and ripped his gas mask off. It felt a million degrees cooler. He drank in the fresh air.

Maria was still standing where he left her, with the horses, and nothing in her face reminded him of anything bad. She nodded at him when he came up and said, “Spores?”

“Yep,” he replied.

She didn’t ask him anymore about the house. All she said was, “Ready to head out?”

“Yep,” he repeated.

* * *

They made it to an old body shop by nightfall. It was the perfect spot because they could put the horses in the garage, and they could hole up in the office and that’s exactly what they did. They ate jerky and hardtack, which Maria said probably reminded Tommy of his cowboying days, to which he tipped an imaginary cowboy hat and winked and started, with an overexaggerated drawl, “Naw - back in my day, we drank our own piss and ate raw prairie dogs.”

She rolled her eyes. Called him an idiot. That was her way of flirting, and he didn’t mind.

Maria went to sleep first. Or she at least laid down and turned her back and went quiet first.

Tommy sat up for a while, watching their little fire burn. The ceiling had a hole in it, enough that they could have a flame tonight without the risk of smoke choking them. It felt good and safe, but it would feel even better when they got back to Jackson and had real electricity.

For the first time in years, he actually felt himself missing a place that was still standing and real. He wanted to get back to it.

He glanced over at Maria, who was breathing deep, and realized he’d wanna get back even more if she hadn’t come with him.

He knew what that meant, but he wasn’t ready to deal with it - not quite yet. Everything was still pretty new.

Instead, he pulled out the photo album he’d found. He opened it up and the first page had him shaking his head and thinking _you sentimental old bastard_ because it was all pictures of him and Tommy, as kids. The first picture, Tommy was still in diapers, his little kid gut punched out all proud. His hair was nearly white, it was so blond, and he was wearing boots and holding up a tiny fish, hooked to a Snoopy rod and real. He was grinning so big his eyes were shut.

Joel was next to him in that picture. Maybe only five or six. He was grinning, too, and looking at Tommy. He didn’t have a fish. But he was grinning like he did.

A few more pictures of them - growing up. Summers at Papa’s, the woodworking shop he kept. He’d taught Joel and Tommy how to make things in that shop. Joel took to it a lot better than Tommy. In each of his pictures, he was scowling at some project. Intense and focused. Tommy’s pictures saw him grinning like an idiot, holding up whatever half-assed shelf or breadbox he’d built.

More pictures of them, this time in Grandma’s kitchen. One picture of both of them wearing frilly aprons and Tommy giving double thumbs up and Joel looking like he wanted to die.

Then the pictures were them as teens, looking a little gangly and awkward. Joel with pimples, the beginnings of a patchy beard that Tommy had ruthlessly made fun of. And Tommy with braces he didn’t bother hiding in pictures because again, he’d always grinned like a fool whenever a camera was around.

A little older - them at fairs, at dirtbike races, at football games. Tommy with his first serious girlfriend, Alyssa Cole, on prom night.

Joel with Mandy.

That one really surprised Tommy. He didn’t think Joel would’ve kept any picture of her, not after she left. It wasn’t like Joel, to keep bad memories lying around, but then again, this whole album wasn’t like Joel. Or maybe it was - sometimes, Tommy had no fucking clue what was going on in his brother’s head.

After that picture, all the rest were pictures of Sarah, really. Sarah as a baby. Sarah as a toddler, wearing one of Tommy’s ballcaps - her proud grin just barely visible beneath the brim. Sarah and Tommy playing tea party. Sarah on Tommy’s shoulders. Sarah at soccer games, getting bigger. Sarah at her birthday parties with their weird themes. No more pictures of Joel because he was the one behind the camera.

Except one at the very end of the book.

It was Tommy and Joel, just the two of them drinking beer, and Tommy remembered Sarah sneaking up and taking the picture. Only she got caught at the very last minute, by Joel, who had winked and raised his bottle in salute.

_“Ugh,” Sarah had said. “I was tryin’ to get y’all unaware.”_

_“Got me unaware. I prolly had my goddamn eyes closed.” That’s what Tommy had said._

_“How’s that different from any other picture you take?” Joel had asked._

That hadn’t been a special day. Tommy couldn’t even remember what they’d been doing, if anything at all. Was it a Saturday? Or was it after work? How old had Sarah been, then?

“Christ,” he said, trying so hard to remember but he couldn’t.

He pulled the picture from its sleeve and looked at the back.

“Daddy and Uncle Tommy,” it said, written in glitter pen. But no date. Nothing else. It didn’t even matter, anyway.

Maybe she’d even put together the photo album, but that didn’t matter, either.

He put the picture back up carefully and then put the album away, too. He’d carry these things back to Jackson with him. He’d put them away but they’d be with him, at least. Not rotting in some house none of them were ever gonna see again.

* * *

The next morning, Maria and Tommy were headed north, back home. Fucking _home_. There - he’d thought it.

He glanced at Maria. She was looking all around, curious but careful, too. He knew she felt him watching. But she didn’t say anything.

He looked straight ahead again, thought on some things. The click-click of horse hooves felt good. Sounded good. Today was a bit more breezy. Fall might be creeping in soon, and that was good, too. Maria beside him. Jackson ahead of him. Texas in the rearview.

“Joel and Sarah,” Tommy said, decision made.

Maria twisted to look at him.

Tommy cleared his throat, shrugged. “Their names - my brother and niece.”

They wandered up the roads on their horses, with that fall breeze blowing. It was gonna carry them all the way home, to the place they’d left behind.

“Joel and Sarah,” Tommy said, again.

**Author's Note:**

> My first TLOU fic, so let me know how I did! Also please tell me all your headcanons on TLOU characters because I feel like I know them so well... yet all of their backstories are pretty mysterious. Or, like in the case of Tommy and Joel, there are huge gaps in their timelines. It's fun to fill all that stuff in.


End file.
